Hallelujah
by pterryfan
Summary: A song fic,an AU, this one's all kinds of things. It involves a very dark theme, cutting, so be warned.


Hallelujah

This one really came out of nowhere, in the dead of night too. Thought I'd write it down and share it. It involves cutting, so get out now if that bothers you in any way. Also, the lyrics are from Leonard Cohen's version of "Hallelujah" that he recorded for the movie _Watchmen_.  
Also, the club and its website are pure fiction.

_I heard there was a sacred chord,_

_That David played and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

Bobby Goren knew he loved Leah Fraser-O'Roark, but he never could fully act on that love, or his gratitude to her, until the night she joined The Young Blades, a cutting club. That was the night he feared losing her forever.

Though never classing herself emo, or Goth, Leah had been a cutter since she was a small child. The beginning of Goren and Leah's deep friendship had been when he insisted on knowing where the fresh wounds had come from, and she had acquiesced. She never told him why she had acquired most of her scars, if indeed she remembered herself; to admit to someone outside her family that she even practiced it was a minor miracle. Though she was kind, sweet and funny, Bobby knew that deep down she absolutely loathed herself. But she told Bobby it was in her blood to be a cutter. "It's like those people who commit suicide for no real reason. It's in their blood, like it's in my blood to do this to myself." She told him not to worry, but he couldn't help but Skoda, she admitted, helped some, but she had gotten used to the idea she would be what she was her whole life.

And now this new case had come. Michele Besbres was young, too young, when she died, covered with more cuts than the ones that finally took her life. No one, though, could puncture their own stomachs with such force, and at such an angle. She was the daughter of a judge, so it got kicked to Major Case, and from the moment Goren saw the marks on her arms, he got a sick feeling deep in his stomach. Somehow, he knew where this would lead.

Michele's father nearly decked Bobby when he had asked the questions, but the mother, red-eyed and drooping like a dying flower, had admitted to the truth and given them her laptop, where they found a like to , the website of the Young Blades.

"This," said Captain Deakins as he looked over Eames's shoulder, "is sick."

"What's sick?" Ron Carver and Leah, his co-chair, came over to where the trio was staring at Michele's laptop.

Bobby snapped the laptop shut so fast he nearly crushed his partner's fingers. "Nothing. We're just going over the Besbres case."

"And . . . since when are you keen to keep information from us about a case?" Leah looked at Captain Deakins. "Would _someone_ like to share with the rest of the class?"

Either Deakins didn't see Bobbby's slight shakes of the head, or chose to ignore them, but he opened the laptop to what they had been glancing over. Leah was, at first, uninterested. "An emo website. Freaks. Do you know what they do?" She turned to her partner. "They all get together and _cut_ _each other_. It's _demented_." That was another thing about Leah's particular form of the illness: to her, cutting others was anathema.

"Well, I don't know about that," Deakins drawled, "but it says that they don't cut others in this particular loony cult. They just sit around jabbing themselves with knives."

Bobby missed Carver's reaction as he watched Leah's face go carefully blank. "A _cutting_ club?"

"Their motto is, 'The beauty is within you.'"

"Detectives," Carver said, "unless this club has something to do with why Miss Besbres was killed, I really don't think I want any more to do with it. I'm sure my colleague feels the same."

Bobby looked closely at Leah's face. "We could drop it."

Eames looked up. "Michele was found under a blanket, but there was blood over the blanket, and it wasn't hers. I think whoever killed her felt guilty and needed to punish himself. The website does promote cutting as a form of punishment. It's one possible angle."

"Self-hatred, guilt." Leah was nodding. "Yeah, that jives with the way one of them might feel after doing that."

"Killing you mean?" asked Carver.

"I mean shedding someone _else's_ blood."

"So, how do we find out more about this cutting club?"

Eames reluctantly raised her hand. "I'll join, if I have to."

Leah gave a derisive bark. "You? With skin that flawless? No, it would take a real cutter to get inside that little clique."

Carver raised his eyebrows at her. "Are you volunteering?"

She lifted her sleeve. "Where the heck do you think all these came from?"

Carver put a hand over his mouth in horror; Eames's mouth flew open. She glanced at her partner, but he would not look her in the eyes.

_There was a time when you let me know_

_what's really going on below,_

_but now you never show it to me do you?_

Though Eames apologized dozens of times, he would not hear her out yet. He knew he would eventually forgive her, but first he had some more important things to do.

He barged in on Carver and Leah having an argument. "Counselor," he said courteously in Carver's direction, "I'd like a word with your partner."

Carver raised a chastening finger. We're in the middle of something Detective. I'm sure you know I'm not happy with my partner right now."

Goren pointed to the door. "Counselor, I think I can make her listen to reason more quickly than you can."

Seeing the wisdom of that. Carver sighed and walked out of the office. They were alone again.

"Bobby," Leah said, crossing her arms, "first of all, this is for the case, you know."

"There are other things at stake here, more important things at stake."

She laughed at this. "More important than a case? You, the great Bobby Goren—"

Now he was mad. _Here comes the dance_. For all the ties of friendship, their arguments were passionate, legendary . "Do _not_ say that, do _not_ pretend that's all I am, all I've ever been. I've been a damned good _friend_ to you."

She looked away. "I know." He relaxed. "But there are some things you don't get." And he was riled yet again.

"What don't I know? Do I have to take a knife to myself—"

"Bobby, don't say that—"

"So it's wrong for me but okay for you?"

"I don't expect you to do such a thing for me. You wouldn't _get_ it, anyway."

_Damn damn damn DAMN_! "These people, uh, they'd understand?"

"Maybe," she said softly. "I'd like to know if there were folks out there like me. These are _my_ people, this is _my_ world."

"Leah, this isn't Hogwarts." He pointed to the picture frames of family on her desk, the books on her shelf. "This is your world." He pointed to himself. "I'm your friend, I always will be."

She rubbed her eyes, sighing deeply. These go-rounds always drained both of them.

"I know where they meet, and when," she said finally. "I'm going. You'll get your answers, and so will I, hopefully." She stalked out, leaving him to glare uselessly at the closed oaken door.

_I did my best, it wasn't much,_

_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch._

_I'll tell the truth, I didn't come to fool you._

Leah stood in the shabby hallway, knocking on the door to apartment 2B. A pretty young brunette answered the door. "I'm sorry, we're having a private party."

She showed the brunette her arm. "Not too private, I hope."

Dark eyes met green ones, and finally, the brunette opened the door to allow Leah in."I haven't seen you here before."

"No, I'm new to your club. I saw the website and thought I might have a place here."

"Well, welcome." 

A dim, shabby living room. Leonard Cohen was playing softly nearby. Several young men and women were sitting on the red carpet, knives in hand stroking their arms, or kissing their thighs with lit cigarettes."I didn't know you did more than cutting." Leah lifted her lean blonde eyebrows.

"We do have a few of those. Self-mutilants come in all shapes and sizes." 

"I guess so." Leah sank down to the damp floor, reaching into her purse for the kitchen knife she brought from home.

Bobby Goren couldn't sleep that night. He washed a few dishes to spotless perfection, ignoring the tears running down his face, finally giving over to his sorrow on his favorite chair, wiping his face with his handkerchief. He wanted to go to where she was and rescue her, rush her away and cleanse her wounds. But he didn't, not just because she was married and not to him. It wouldn't be like he pictured anyway, she'd fight with him and leave him in the middle of the street looking like an idiot. _Please_, he whispered deep inside his soul, _please, let her be okay_.

_There's a blaze of light in every word,_

_It doesn't matter which you heard,_

_The holy or the broken Hallelujah._

In the morning, Eames was still sheepish. They hadn't completely made up yet. "How was your night?" he asked abruptly.

"Good, last night was my night with Nathan, and we had a nice spaghetti meal with Liz." 

"I'm glad _someone_ had a nice evening."

Eames sighed. "Did Leah call you?"

"No, but I didn't expect her to."

"You guys have another blow up?"

"Nothing time won't heal." He winced at his own words. "You, you know what I mean."

Just then, Leah walked in, chipper and with a fresh bandage on her left arm. "Good morning all!"

"Leah . . . My God . . ."

"Don't start, Eames. We needed to know what was going on in that club."

"Maybe, but we don't need _anything_ that badly."

"So let's see them." Eames and Leah both stared at him. "I want to see them," he said softly.

Reluctantly, Leah undid the tape around her bandage, lifting them to show fresh red lines of puckered wounds. Bobby looked quickly away. "Not nice, are they?"

"My God," whispered Deakins, "that needs some kind of doctor."

"What? I've seen worse, I'm not going to cry about these, either. What's done is done."

"Those look like they hurt."

"My rule is, if I cause it, I can't cry about it."

"Damn you, Leah, don't be so _rational,_ this isn't a rational thing!" Bobby suddenly exploded.

Deakins stared at him. "Goren, take a walk, clear your head."

Leah shook her head. "Captain, it's okay, he doesn't understand."

"I won't understand something that does. . . that. . . to you," he returned heatedly, getting up and walking away.

He stopped two blocks from the station, waiting for Leah's footsteps. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, don't ask me that. I deserve whatever happens to me."

He shut his eyes tight. "Leah, I understand more than you think. But you say you don't want me to understand. Fine. I won't try. But don't _you_ try and stop those who love you _from_ loving you. Okay?"

"Bobby. . . I love you, too."

"Can you stop doing that for me?

"You know I can't. But I won't go back to that club. I know that hurt you."

"You hurt, and the ones who love you hurt too."

"I love them too. I know how that feels, to hurt when someone else hurts."

"Did it hurt you to see the people in that room cut themselves?"

"No."

"Then, how could they be your people?"

"Bobby, I'm so sorry . . ."

He reached out to touch her arm, rubbing it softly with his hand. She put her hand on his. He drew her close, hand to her back, and slowly, carefully, their lips touched, passionate as the worst fight they had ever had.

_And even though it all went wrong, _

_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_

_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah,_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah._


End file.
